Need You Now
by ibelieveinthegood
Summary: The mid-winter rain was relentless; it fell from the sky in thick, unforgiving sheets. Raindrops mixed with snowflakes, which mixed with the bitter, angry air, creating the perfect winter storm. AU: Meredith/Derek two parter. T for mentions of drinking.
1. Chapter 1

**I don't know how this happens. (Actually, I do. People guilt me into continuing, and because I'm weak, I say okay.) This story idea started out as a oneshot… and it has now transformed into a two-shot. Because Derek's side of the story needs to be told, too. This is Mer's POV.**

**I hope this lives up to your expectations.**

**Part 2 of 2 will likely follow sometime this weekend.**

**And I appreciate your comments; drop me a line if you get a chance.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Grey's Anatomy et al. **

* * *

**Lyrics to the song that inspired it all:**

**_Need You Now  
Lady Antebellum_**

Picture perfect memories scattered all around the floor  
Reaching for the phone 'cause I can't fight it anymore  
And I wonder if I ever cross your mind?  
For me it happens all the time

It's a quarter after one, I'm all alone and I need you now  
Said I wouldn't call but I lost all control and I need you now  
And I don't know how I can do without, I just need you now

Another shot of whiskey can't stop looking at the door  
Wishing you'd come sweeping in the way you did before  
And I wonder if I ever cross your mind?  
For me it happens all the time

It's a quarter after one I'm a little drunk and I need you now  
Said I wouldn't call but I lost all control and I need you now  
And I don't know how I can do without I just need you now

Guess I'd rather hurt than feel nothing at all

It's a quarter after one I'm all alone and I need you now  
And I said I wouldn't call but I'm a little drunk and I need you now  
And I don't know how I can do without I just need you now  
I just need you now  
Oh, baby I need you now 

* * *

The mid-winter rain was relentless; it fell from the sky in thick, unforgiving sheets. Raindrops mixed with snowflakes, which mixed with the bitter, angry air, creating the perfect winter storm. The rain pelted the windowpanes in the old Colonial home, the windows rattled as the wind blew, which made for the perfect soundtrack for not sleeping. As if she'd be able to sleep anyways -- it had been a long, trying, impossible day. She was sick to her stomach, her head felt as if it would explode at any moment now, she was angry, she was scared, she was distraught… of all the things she was and wasn't, the part that stung the most was the new, empty feeling of loneliness. The fact that she was now alone in this world, except for her friends from work and her beautiful little girl, terrified her.

She had never been one to rely on others; growing up as Ellis Grey's daughter, if anything, had taught her that. As a child, she spent most of her time alone, never making time for friends or any sort of fun. She worked her ass off in school so she wouldn't need her mother's financial dependence and earned a full ride scholarship to Columbia, which was clear across the country - as far away as she could get from her mother and step-father. There, she decided to pursue a degree in biology, which provided a stepping-stone for her career as a doctor. She went to Dartmouth for Medical school, choosing to remain on the East coast. During her M1 year, she met her first boyfriend, Derek Shepherd, who was the first person she ever loved ... and the first person she ever allowed herself to depend on.

They dated for nearly four years, all through Medical school; she gave him everything she had. Then somehow, something shifted, and as quickly as he entered her life, he left it; she was left alone again. Their break-up wasn't mutual, they didn't leave the relationship as friends... she was completely blindsided and devastated by Derek's actions. He hadn't ever tried to explain; instead, he issued her the standard "it's not you, it's me" line. He told her to call him is she ever needed or wanted anything, but she was too stubborn (and proud) to give him that satisfaction. She did the best to push every memory - both good and bad - away and out of sight, packing every memento - pictures, little gifts, cards and letters - into a cardboard box.

Within months, she met Andy Campbell, an up-and-coming novelist, who became the second - and current - love of her life.

Their romance is what could only be described as a whirlwind. They dated for just six months before he asked her to marry him - a proposal she graciously and eagerly accepted. Her mother was elated; she published the engagement announcement in both The New York Times and The Seattle Times. Meredith had received hundreds of gifts and congratulatory messages (only one remained unopened - instead, it was placed into the cardboard box in the basement); she spent the little free time she had away from Seattle Grace, where she had chosen to complete her internship, planning for the wedding.

The ceremony was beautiful and traditional; hundreds of guests (mostly her parents' colleagues and Andy's publishing team, of course) attended the black-tie affair. Every moment of that day was photographed, and each photo made its way into a large, white photo album that was always on display in their home. They bought the house shortly after they returned from the honeymoon; it was everything they could have ever wanted or needed. They pored over every last detail of the home, remodeling it so it would be perfect for their eventual family. Within eight months of their marriage, Meredith learned she was pregnant, and the timing - considering that her intern year was just about over and she'd at least be secure in her residency by the time the baby was born - was almost perfect.

Their daughter, Lilah Noelle Campbell, was born exactly on her due date. She quickly became their sole focus; both Meredith and Andy took leaves of absence from their jobs to tend to the infant. She looked like a carbon copy of Meredith, but had Andy's calm, easy-going disposition.

Meredith took a deep breath as tears cascaded down her cheeks. That was already two and a half years ago - back when things were perfect, back when her life was in order. She trained her eyes on the large picture window that looked out into the backyard, watching as the rain-snow mix left trails of precipitation on the glass. She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders, involuntarily shivering as a sob escaped her lips. Her body trembled as she took a deep breath and tried to keep her thoughts somewhat happy.

"Mama?" a little voice whispered. Meredith sat up quickly, tearing her attention away from the window. She haphazardly wiped at her cheeks and eyes, letting the blanket fall back onto the leather couch.

"What's wrong, baby?" her voice cracked. She shivered; she knew what was wrong. "Come here, Lilah."

The little girl stepped into the room, her bare feet padding across the hardwood flooring in what had been Andy's study. She put her thumb in her mouth and dragged her baby blanket behind her; Meredith melted. Meredith pulled her baby girl into her lap and snuggled her close, breathing in the scent of her hair - baby shampoo mixed with Ivory soap mixed with childhood innocence. Lilah rested her head on Meredith's chest, still sucking her thumb - a habit both Meredith and Andy desperately tried to get her to break, and it had been working, too, until this week from hell began. She twirled her hair with her chubby fingers as Meredith placed a kiss atop her head of golden curls.

"I can't go sleepy," Lilah said softly as she looked up into her mother's eyes. "I want Daddy."

The little girl's confession hit Meredith like a ton of bricks. She took a deep breath, feeling as if she had been sucker-punched, as if all of the air had been sucked out of her lungs. Fresh tears lined her eyes; she took a deep, gasping breath as she tried to prevent them from falling. "Baby, you know...," she began, words failing her as Lilah watched her intently. She didn't know. She couldn't know; she wasn't even three. Two-year-olds don't understand death.

"Daddy's in Heaven," the little girl whispered. "That's what aunt Izzie said."

Meredith nodded. "Daddy's in heaven, Lil. He's still watching us, and protecting us," she said, if only to fill the silence. She didn't necessarily believe it; she didn't believe in many things anymore, but... something made her say that. The little girl accepted this answer; she nodded and pressed her head back down onto Meredith's chest. Meredith kissed her head again as silent tears trickled down her cheeks. Silence - and the sounds of the winter storm - consumed the mother-daughter duo as they snuggled, safe and warm in one another's arms. About ten minutes passed before Lilah yawned and her eyes fluttered lazily as she tried to fight off sleep. "Let's get you tucked into bed, baby," Meredith whispered. Her little girl nodded in response, her thumb still in her mouth, her baby blanket hanging down and nearly touching the floor.

Meredith sighed as she stood, surprisingly steady on her feet; she thought she'd wobble or stumble, but her balance remained intact. She shifted her daughter's weight in her arms, scooping the rest of the cashmere baby blanket up as not to trip, as she crossed the study. Another tear slipped down her cheek as she closed the glass French door behind her; the door clicked shut, the glass rattling slightly, and ... it felt final. She quickened her pace and climbed the stairs, the wooden staircase creaking beneath their shifting weight. Lilah quickly grew heavy in her mother's arms; luckily, her lilac-colored nursery was the first door on the right. Meredith stepped into the room, which was fit for a princess, and flipped the light on. Lilah's eyes snapped shut in protest of the light; Meredith apologized and placed a kiss on her forehead as she crossed the nursery. She put the little girl in the brand-new 'big girl bed' and tucked her in. She covered her with her sheets and blankets, and the little girl held her security blanket tightly in her hands.

Lilah's big green eyes fluttered open and closed. "I love you, Mama," she whispered, her voice sweet and melodic. "To the moon and back."

"I love you, too, little one," Meredith replied, smoothing Lilah's flyaway curls away from her perfect little face. She bent down and kissed her cheek, and within seconds, the little girl surrendered to sleep, her eyes closing peacefully. "To the moon and back."

Meredith stayed in the room, perched at the edge of the toddler bed, watching her little girl sleep. As much as she still looked like Meredith, all Meredith could see was Andy; the way the little girl's lips popped open slightly when she inhaled, the way her nose wrinkled slightly as she breathed out, even the position in which she slept was all Andy. Meredith watched her for a few more minutes; tears flowed down her cheeks. How would she ever explain this to her little girl?

She stood quickly and crossed the room; she turned the light off, and the castle-shaped nightlight popped on, illuminating the nursery a little bit. Meredith left the door open, just a crack, as she stepped out of the room. She leaned up against the wall, exhaling a deep breath, a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She sobbed freely now, gasping for air as the memories of last Monday overtook her mind...

_It was just after seven p.m.; in just two more hours, Meredith could stop being a doctor, a hero, and return to her family and home. She was mentally exhausted; one of her favorite patients had, unfortunately, perished on the table earlier in the morning. The sleet that was falling angrily from the sky didn't help her mood much, either. She just wanted to go home, eat some cold leftovers, kiss her baby girl good night and snuggle up in bed beside her husband. Her ringing cell phone interrupted her thoughts._

_"This is Dr. Campbell," she said into the receiver._

_"Dr. Campbell, this is Shannon... from the day care center?"_

_Meredith's breath hitched in her throat. "Is everything okay, Shannon?"_

_"I was... well, it's just that...," she said, taking a deep breath before she continued. "The center closes in 15 minutes, and your husband hasn't picked Lilah up yet. We can't get a hold of him... now, it's no big deal, she's fine here, playing with the other kids. Was someone else supposed to get her today?"_

_"I, uh... no," Meredith replied. "Andy was supposed to pick her up an hour ago, at the usual time. He must be writing. I'll see if I can reach him... and get someone to take the rest of my shift. I'll be there soon, okay?"_

_"It's fine, Dr. Campbell - really. She's a sweetheart."_

_"Thank you, Shannon. And thanks for calling," Meredith said, rubbing her fingers over the bridge of her nose. She hung the phone up and dropped it back into her lab coat pocket. She sighed as her pager rang out, its ring loud and shrill. 911 to the pit. She frowned as she quickened her pace, opting for the stairs instead of the elevator._

_The emergency room was packed and chaotic, nurses and doctors were scrambling everywhere. "What's going on?" Meredith asked a nurse._

_"There was a rollover MVA on the freeway... five or six cars were involved. We've got one more ambulance, ETA five minutes, Dr. Campbell," the nurse quickly explained before turning on her heel to tend to a group of patients._

_Meredith took a deep breath; she pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialed Andy's number. It rang six times before she got his voicemail; she didn't leave a message. Instead, she texted Izzie and asked her to pick Lilah up, pulled her hair into a sloppy ponytail, and focused solely on the task at hand._

_"Campbell, you've got the incoming trauma, according to EMTs, looks like a suspected closed-head injury," the ER resident rambled, his voice somehow calm and commanding. She nodded as she tied the gown's laces behind her neck and slipped her hands into a pair of gloves._

_The sound of sirens filled the air now, insistent, loud and distinct, signaling the arrival of the impending trauma. The ambulance doors flew open; EMTs jumped out, rattling statistics._

_Driver. 36-year-old male. Pupils unresponsive. BP falling. Weak pulse._

_Meredith froze._

_"Dr. Campbell! Dr. Campbell!" the trauma resident yelled as Meredith stared at the victim on the gurney._

_"Holy shit...," one of Meredith's friends, Alex, said as he stood beside her._

_"What is it Karev?" the older doctor barked at the younger resident._

_"It's her husband," he explained, watching as Meredith's face fell, and tears lined her eyes, threatening to fall. She kept her eyes trained on the gurney as the trauma team moved it into the hospital. The trauma resident barked fresh orders; Alex quickly followed him into the hospital._

_She couldn't move. Bile rose in her throat. She wanted to scream. She wanted to help. She wanted to..._

_... but she couldn't._

_"Meredith!" Cristina called out as she pushed her way through the thick crowd of doctors who were standing in her way. She uncharacteristically threw her arms around her best friend and pulled her in for a tight hug; she rubbed Meredith's back in slow circles._

_"How bad is it, Cristina?" she croaked out._

_Cristina paused, and she knew. Cristina had 'the look' on her face - the look that doctors get when they tell their patients' families that they did everything they could, that they were sorry, but that they had lost the patient._

_"Just say it," Meredith whispered._

_Cristina shook her head; a single tear trickled down her cheek. "He wouldn't respond to anything... they think his aorta was shredded in the accident, Mer," she whispered into her friend's ear. "I'm so sorry."_

_Meredith stifled a sob as she pulled away from her friend. She slowly walked back into the hospital; the nosy gathering of busybody nurses and doctors parted like the Red Sea as she made her way back into the emergency room. She avoided eye contact; she didn't want their looks of sympathy or pity. She made her way into trauma bay one, where Alex pulled her into a tight hug before drawing the blinds closed, giving them a moment of privacy. She stared at her husband - a victim in all of this, a drunk driving accident at six p.m., unusual but not unheard of - she wanted to say so many things. Her mind flashed to all of the future memories they'd never share, the 'I love yous' that would remain forever unexchanged, and to her little girl, who worshiped the ground her father walked on._

_This couldn't be happening; everything was perfect. His newest novel was hitting the stores in a week, she was climbing - slowly but surely - to the top of the surgical food chain, their little girl was brilliant, beautiful, amazing, the center of their universe... and now..._

_Everything would change._

She pounded her fist against the wall, angry with herself for allowing those memories to take control again. She wiped her tears from her cheeks and turned the hallway light off. By this time, it was nearly one a.m., and she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep at all, not after the day she had. Not after that funeral; the funeral that, at only 32, she should have never had to have planned. She padded down the stairs and into the kitchen, which was littered with what seemed like hundreds of floral arrangements and trays of desserts and casseroles. She wanted to throw all of them away, to clean her kitchen so the smell of flowers was replaced by the scent of Lysol and Clorox, but she couldn't. She'd have to go through each and every one of them and write thank-you notes, which unfortunately didn't allow for her to scoop everything up and toss it into trash bags and bins.

She smiled sadly, realizing exactly how many lives both she and her husband touched. Her smile almost instantly dissolved; she couldn't be bothered by any of that now - she needed to readjust her focus and think about something else or else her head would surely explode. She sighed and crossed the room; she pulled the cabinet beneath the sink open, effectively breaking the baby lock that Andy had installed. She froze and picked the white lock up, holding it gingerly between her fingers, and she was unable to stop fresh tears from cascading down her cheeks. Meredith reached into the cupboard and pulled a bottle of vodka out; normally, she'd prefer tequila, but tonight was different. Everything was different.

She didn't bother grabbing a glass; instead, she headed straight for the living room, where boxes of photo albums and other mementos of their life together. She sat down Indian-style, leaning up against the couch for support. She took a swig of the clear liquid, feeling the familiar burn as it made its way down her throat, and pulled a box of photographs toward her.

She thumbed through Lilah's baby book, smiling and almost laughing as she reminisced, thinking about how much Lilah changed her life. Half of it was still empty; Izzie bought one that was for ages zero through five - so nearly half of the pages were still blank, waiting to be filled with pictures of the little girl who was growing up far too quickly for her mother's taste. She sighed, taking another sip of vodka before setting the book down and grabbing another. She continued this pattern - drink, thumb through photos, laugh, cry, drink - for what felt like forever. Each photo album was neatly stacked, the room somewhat organized now, and she felt a little bit better. She twisted her wedding bad around her finger as she looked around the room, trying to figure out what to do next.

That's when she spotted it - her 'Derek' box. Alex must have brought it upstairs with the other picture boxes,' she thought to herself. She crawled across the living room floor and sat back down beside the box. She took a deep breath and pulled at the tape on the lid, unsealing a large part of her past. She reached inside and pulled the first photo album out. She sighed, realizing that she left her half-empty bottle of vodka across the room. Oh, well - she couldn't avoid it any longer, could she? She was already dealing with more than she could comprehend - either sober or inebriated; she might as well face all of her demons.

She opened the first photo album. It held photos, articles, letters and printed out copies of e-mails... everything from the first year and a half of their relationship. Inside the box were two more photo albums, each of them held contents similar to the first one. She reached into the box and pulled out two jewelry boxes; one held the pair of diamond earrings he had given her at their graduation. The other held the modest engagement ring that he had given her at Christmas the previous year. The more she thought about it, the more she didn't understand, especially now... but like most things in her life seem to, their engagement crashed and burned. She sat up on her knees to put everything back in its place in the box.

Meredith wiped the tears from her cheeks, and as she held the pile of photo albums, she noticed an aging envelope. She dropped the albums onto the floor, their contents spilling out all over the place - just another mess that she'd have to clean up later. Meredith grabbed for the envelope; its postmark date was from nearly five years ago - just about the time that she and Andy were engaged. Then she remembered; the letter from Derek. She traced her fingertip over the familiar scrawl.

She chewed on her lower lip. Should she or shouldn't she? There probably, honestly, would never be an appropriate time for her to open it, so she crawled across the room, returning to the couch (and her bottle of vodka). She sat up, took a swig of the alcohol, and, without second thought, ripped the faded envelope open.

She read the words quickly, the tears that were forming in her eyes making everything blurry.

_Dear Meredith,_

_It is with a happy, heavy heart that I am sending this letter to you. I am happy for you and happy that you are moving on... that you have found someone who makes you happy... someone who loves you, and whom you love in return. It's all I've ever wanted for you... you know that, don't you?_

_I admit that I was surprised (but mostly jealous) when I saw the wedding announcement in the Times. Of course, we could have had this, but I walked away. And I know that I've never given you an explanation, though you deserve one. You do. The simple fact of the matter is ... I don't have one. I was selfish. I didn't think._

_That's neither here nor there, though; the point of this letter was to first and foremost congratulate you. I hope we can someday be friends, Meredith. You will forever be an important person in my life._

_If you ever need anything, don't hesitate to call. My phone is always on._

_All my love,_

_Derek Shepherd_

The letter fluttered to the ground slowly, almost teasing her. She buried her head in her hands; if there were ever a time where she would need Derek, this would surely be it. He was there for her when she failed her first exam. He was there for her when her father passed away. He was there for every big moment in her life for four years - and then he walked away. She almost felt guilty about not opening the letter - he had meant well, of course, but perhaps his ... betrayal... had stung more than she had ever realized. She sighed, taking another small sip of the vodka.

She reached for the home phone, pulling it from its cradle on the end table beside the couch. She set the bottle onto the table and held the phone in her hands; she stared down at the number pad. His phone number was still imprinted in her mind, of course, as if the last time she called it was only days- instead of years - ago. She sighed again and chewed on her bottom lip. _If you ever need anything, don't hesitate to call._

Her heart was nearly beating out of her chest. She silently prayed, hoped, wished that his number was the same; it'd be even more embarrassing if it wasn't. She slowly dialed the numbers and pressed the phone to her ear. It rang once, twice, three times before he picked up. "Hello?" his tired voice answered.

She took a deep breath; he actually answered. She had to say something. So she said the only word she could. "Derek?"

**Part two of two to follow**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you to all of you who read and commented - I appreciate your kind words.**

This probably will not continue. You'll see why when you read. ;) 

Seconds, minutes, hours were passing before his own eyes. The heirloom cuckoo clock's ticking was driving him wild; its ticking was loud and incessant, distracting, grating on his last nerve. It seemed as if time was moving both slowly and quickly, his frame of mind in a weird limbo of anger-hurt-sadness. From his seat on the futon couch, he could see the wet sleet-like snowflakes throttling through the sky, falling not gently, but almost angrily, matching his current mood. He could see the park from his high-rise apartment; naked trees were swaying in the harsh winter winds. This wintry mixture, the blizzard happening now, was only adding to that depressing state of snow… the state that occurs after it falls and leaves a perfectly sparkly-white landscape, the state where the people of the city come out from their warm enclaves and drive through it, turning it into white-gray mush. The city's Christmas decorations (and spirit) had been stripped, leaving an almost empty, uneasy feeling in the air. All of this reflected his emotional state.

He sighed and took another sip of the scotch. It was after three a.m. already; as a surgeon, he knew he should have stopped drinking hours ago. He, of course, had a simple solution: he'd call in sick tomorrow. He was in no position to fix others, to clean up their messes and save their lives… when he couldn't even fix his own, when his own life was a mess, when he didn't know what his next move should be. He swirled the glass slightly in his right hand; the ice cubes clinking against the glass, adding to the irritating soundtrack of the storm, the ticking clock, his own internal thoughts.

Derek scoffed slightly as he took yet another sip of the amber liquid; by now, it no longer burned. Instead, the liquor trickled down his throat as if he were drinking water. He was a mess - and that was a fact. The bar had kicked him out shortly after midnight. The bartender was kind, politely explaining that he had called a cab and that he'd have to ask him to leave, considering Derek was way over the legal limit. The bartender offered him a sympathetic smile, which only pissed him off more. He had slammed his glass back down onto the bar, nearly shattering it, before pulling his wallet out of his pocket and tossing several fifty dollar bills at the old man. He slid off the bar stool, slightly unsteady on his feet, and stormed out of the bar; he had ignored the waiting cab and trudged through the slippery sidewalks back to his apartment, giving him time to clear his head a little.

Not that it had helped much.

Five years ago, he had everything he ever wanted. He was graduating near the top of his class from Medical school, accepting nationwide internship offers; he was engaged to the love of his life. The connection he shared with Meredith was unlike any other - every word, every touch, every smile, every ... _thing_ ... they shared was, in a word, intense. He could tell what she was thinking without her ever having to say a word, and vice versa. He knew when she needed a kiss, a hug, a simple shoulder squeeze; he knew how to make her moan with just a simple touch, how to make her happy. He knew every detail about her life - and she knew everything about him, too. He had never felt that way about any of the (many) other women he had been with in his young life. They had dated for just about four years before he proposed, but long before then he knew she was the one he'd want to spend the rest of his life with - with a connection like that, how could one not know?

Things were going smoothly, until they weren't. Everything had changed the day that both he and Meredith received their letters from Seattle Grace Hospital. He got back to their apartment first, so he saw the envelopes before she did; his was a single, plain-letter mailing envelope. Hers came in a thick, large, white envelope - _'congratulations!'_ in blue ink across the front of it. And he knew before he even opened his that the letter would give the standard statement of rejection - _Dear Mr. Shepherd, We regret to inform you that we will not be accepting your application to our surgical internship and residency program at Seattle Grace Hospital_ - followed by some bullshit generic message about best wishes for the future. He was instantly defeated. And he knew that Seattle Grace... that's where Meredith was destined to shine.

He and Meredith had, of course, talked about going to the same hospital for their residencies. Best case scenario, they would have both been accepted to the program at SGH, moved across the country, gotten married, become world-class surgeons and one day, have a family. That wouldn't happen, though, not with that rejection letter looming over his head. He knew that Meredith would go with him anywhere; she'd stay in New York, or go to Boston, Detroit, Atlanta, Dallas, LA... she'd go anywhere for him, willing to put their relationship and their life together before her career. And he was not willing to accept that; he wouldn't do that to her.

So he had shredded that letter, without ever opening it. He placed hers front and center on the kitchenette table beside a bouquet of half-wilted daisies he had picked up from a street corner market. She was jumping for joy, absolutely over the moon upon opening that letter. Her smile was real, the worry lines and bags that had been under her eyes for months suddenly disappeared. And that's when he knew... in his heart... that he'd have to walk away, to give her the chance to spread her wings. So he sat her down the weekend after graduation and explained to her that his feelings had changed. It was a lie, of course; he didn't dare tell her that he had been rejected from Grace. She'd give that up for him in a heartbeat. He watched her as her face fell as he delivered those cold, meaningless lines - 'it's not you, it's me.' She sat there frozen on the futon couch as he packed his bags silently. Tears were streaming down her face, and he wanted to do nothing more but run over to her and tell her the truth, tell her that he was completely, totally, desperately in love with her, tell her that they'd make a long distance relationship work. But he wasn't strong enough for that. Without another word, he left, the door clicking shut behind him. He paused before hitting the elevator button, hoping that she'd come rushing out of the apartment and beg for an explanation, or beg him not to go... but she didn't.

Within a week, she was gone, clear across the country, and out of his life... forever.

He shook his head and took another sip of his scotch, which by now was watered down. He set the glass down on the coffee table in front of him; his eyes fell to the framed photograph that sat in the middle of the table. It was a picture of himself and Addison - a brilliant red-headed OB resident who somehow became his close friend - at a Yankees game. He picked the picture up and traced his finger over her cheek. Somehow, she had captured his heart; they were newly dating, longtime friends, at the time that photograph was taken. He wasn't head-over-heels in love with her - at least not yet - but he could have been. Maybe... one day in the distant but now never possible future.

Tears lined Derek's eyes. He was moving on, slowly but surely, just like Meredith had. He thought that things were going well between them, that he and Addison could have one day gotten married and lived out the full American dream. A sad tear escaped his eye and trickled down his cheek; he swiped at it before it had the chance to trickle down the entire length of his face. It had only been about seven months since that photograph was taken, and back then, he was at least somewhat happy... but now... after what he had seen a week ago...

He was anything but.

_ He was late coming home from work - which wasn't at all unusual. As he was moving further along into his residency, the demand for his surgical prowess was greater, so he spent more time at the hospital. He hopped into the shower, quickly calculating an estimated time of arrival; he was supposed to bet at his best friend, Mark's, to watch the Knicks game. He dressed quickly, leaving his hair wet, and - deciding not to waste any more time - left his apartment for his friend's place. Under normal circumstances, he would have called to say he was on his way, but in his haste, he had forgotten his cell phone at home. He parked his car near the building and the doorman, whom he was familiar with, buzzed him in._

Mark's apartment was on the first floor. Derek pulled the key from his pocket and let himself in; he closed the door behind him. Right away, he could tell something was off. The tell-tale signs and sounds of a basketball game - cheers, boos, whistles, friendly jabs about whose player was having the worst night - were absent. He ran his fingers through his still wet hair and flipped the light on. He stepped into the apartment, noticing a trail of clothing that led to the bedroom. He half-smirked; his best friend was notorious for always having women over. He silently cursed himself... he should have called.

His heart sank, his mouth went dry as he recognized the tee shirt that lay on the ground beside the bathroom door. He stopped short in front of the halfway-open bedroom door. Then he heard her voice. He froze in his footsteps, wanting to move, wanting to leave, wanting to say something, anything, but completely unable to. A few long moments passed and he felt sick to his stomach. He took a few deep breaths, trying to suppress the rising bile in his throat, and turned on his heel. He stomped out of the apartment and slammed the door behind him; he didn't even look at the doorman as he left the building, completely humiliated... but mostly hurt.

He had ignored the phone calls, texts and e-mails, and the pleas from both Addison and Mark to forgive them - _it was only one time, just one time, they know that's what people say in these situations, but it was the **truth**_ - but he didn't want to hear any of it anymore. Who knew what the truth really was? Angry tears slipped down his cheeks now, and he cursed himself for allowing his mind to slip back to 'that day'. He went to set the frame back down onto the coffee table, but his depth-perception was off, and he missed. The frame shattered. _Perfect,_ he thought to himself. He stood and walked toward the kitchen to grab a broom, a dustpan and a paper bag to clean his mess up. He dropped to his knees, careful not to kneel on any glass, and cleaned up the fragments of glass. A shard of glass had cut the photograph, right in the space between his face and Addison's - talk about symbolism. He picked that picture up and tore it to tiny bits, sprinkling it piece by piece into the paper bag.

Behind that picture was a photograph of Meredith, taken the night he proposed. She hadn't been feeling well - still in a funk after midterms and her father's funeral. She was in a terrible state, constantly moody, crying and distant. He proposed during the Christmas Eve dinner - the dinner which only consisted of a box of macaroni and cheese and chicken nuggets - and was finally able to get her to smile. Somehow, he had captured the moment on his camera, and it quickly became his favorite picture of her. It was natural, honest, beautiful, much like Meredith herself. She, of course, hated it; but he had framed the photo immediately.

He sat back on his heels and stared at the picture of the woman whom, at one time, had been the love of his life. Maybe she still was, maybe that's why he hadn't moved on. Even now, he was captivated by her; her green eyes sparkled, drawing him in. Her smile, her worry-free face kept his attention. Even the ratty tee shirt she was wearing - her favorite long-sleeved one from Dartmouth - roped him in. She would have never betrayed him, not like Addison had done. She wouldn't have even betrayed him the way he betrayed her.

He sighed and set the picture down on the table, unable to look at it for a moment longer. He had let her go without a real reason, without ever attempting to offer a real solution. That was a gray area for him - his not being accepted to that program while she was - and he only saw things in black and white. His tears of anger had turned to tears of sadness, regret, guilt by this time. He had never even given her a chance. Nor an explanation. Just some half-assed letter that had only said about half the things he wanted - and needed - it to.

_ Derek returned home to his empty loft apartment in the wee hours of the morning. He had one of the most exhilarating, challenging, adrenaline-pumping nights of his fledgling career, and was now exhausted. So as the rest of the East Coast was waking up to begin their day, Derek was taking a shower and climbing into bed to dream of aneurysms, hematomas, clear surgical fields, and acing his first solo surgery. That was the plan, however, he never made it that far. Something made him actually look at The New York Times that had been delivered probably only a few minutes before he arrived home._

He flipped through the sports and business sections, his attention unfocused. He sighed, turning the page and scanning it, beginning to doubt his decision to read as he hadn't found anything really worth reading. But then something caught his eye - it was Meredith. Her eyes bore into his. He looked to the headline - **Novelist Andy Campbell and daughter of Ellis Grey to marry** - and quickly read the words of the engagement announcement, which was more-than-likely written by Ellis Grey. He shook his head and tears lined his eyes. Jealousy tore through his body, rippling like an angry wave during a tropical storm. He dropped the section of newspaper onto the floor. It had only been a little over a year since the break-up; had she really moved on that quickly? Tears slipped down his cheeks.

He thought to call her, to offer some sort of congratulations, maybe explain why he had broken things off. But to admit to that truth... that would hurt his pride too much. So he pulled a notebook out of the desk drawer and began his letter to her. He knew what he wanted to say, what he needed to say, but words failed him. In the end, except for the drying tear stain, the only thing on that paper was a generic explanation and message of congratulations. Maybe she'd never read it. Maybe he'd never even send it. He felt a little bit better, but not much; he had allowed himself to think about her for the first time in ... who was he kidding? He thought about her every day.

Not giving himself the chance to chicken out, he sealed the envelope and addressed it to her mother's house; he dropped it in the mailbox in the lobby before climbing into bed to spend the rest of his day there. 

He sighed as he stood, shaking his head to clear the memory from his mind. He had never heard from her; maybe Ellis threw it away, recognizing the return address. Maybe it got lost in the mail. Or maybe Meredith had never opened it, still too hurt by his words and actions. He carried the bag of broken picture frame to the kitchen, stapled it shut, and dropped it into the empty trash can. He winced when he heard the sickening clunk; more glass broke. He stepped over to the sink, washed his hands and pulled a new bottle of scotch out of the cupboard. Derek leaned over the sink, resting his hands on the edge of the porcelain basin and took a deep breath. After a moment's pause, he uncapped the bottle of scotch, and poured himself another glass. It would be a long night.

He stepped back into the living room and sank back down on the couch. He glanced back to the picture of Meredith, his eyes falling once again to her smile. His heart sank as he thought about her now, knowing full well that she wouldn't be smiling - shouldn't be smiling - for a long time.

It made national headlines - _Author Andy Campbell, 36, killed in automobile accident_. His heart pounded as he watched the news story on his television and visions of a teary Meredith played across the screen; she spoke, her voice strong but still wavering, her green eyes dead of emotion and red-rimmed. He nearly vomited when the reporters mentioned Meredith's little girl, Lilah - she was beautiful, she looked exactly like Meredith, only two years old - now without a father. He wanted to call her, to fly clear across the country and hold her like he had when her father died. He wanted to console her, to tell her that she was strong and that she'd make it out of this okay - emotionally scarred, of course, but alive.

But that wasn't his place - she was out of his life, which was his own fault. So he sent flowers to her house - a large, lavish arrangement composed of lavender sprigs and lilies, he knew those were her favorite flowers - hoping that she'd appreciate the gesture. He secretly hoped that he'd hear from her. He took another sip of his drink, keeping his eyes trained on the photograph. The clock in the other room chimed - it was now four a.m. On a normal day, he'd be waking up and heading to the hospital for pre-rounds, but this day... it wasn't normal.

He sighed, his mind flashing to different parts of his relationship with Meredith. He loved her... no... he _loves_ her. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket - after all these years, his number remained the same. Much like the rest of his life, he wasn't open to change. And maybe deep down inside, a part of him hoped that she'd call. He had always promised himself that if she made the first move and called that he'd give her the proper explanation, the reasons that he broke off their engagement.

His attention shifted and he stared at the keypad of his phone. Maybe he should be the one to make the first move. Maybe that was the issue - he spent far too much time waiting, hoping, wishing for something that was highly unlikely. He took another slow swig of the scotch.

Maybe he'd make the first move.

He pressed the arrow key on the phone pad, searching through his contacts. Her number was probably different. As he reached the 'M' section of the contact list, his cell phone display lit up. It was a number he didn't recognize, probably a telemarketer or some Med student who needed advice. For a split second, he considered ignoring the call.

After three shrill rings, he decided to answer. "Hello?" he sighed into the phone.

There was a long silence, but he could hear a sharp intake of breath. His heart skipped a beat when she finally spoke. "Derek?"

Her voice invaded his ears. He did a double take and glanced back to the display, just to be sure the seconds of the call were indeed moving and it wasn't just some crazy hallucination. His heartbeat sped up.

"Hello?" she whispered after a few long, silent seconds.

"Meredith?"

** The End**


End file.
